Quieten
by ultranaff
Summary: Mac decides to take care of a drunk Dee one night. Short one-shot, Mac-centric, Mac/Dee. Rated Teen for mild swearing.


**Quieten**

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Authors Note: I don't know, I really like this Mac/Dee pairing, especially after that episode where they were taking care of the dumpster baby, I got loads of ideas. I also think I'm one of the few people who think any of the characters deserve happiness.

Rating Teen for the swearing, which I reckon should be fitting because it's a pretty messed up show.

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Disclaimer: I don't own.

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" I never really understood you guys." Dee mumbled, blonde hair sticking to her lips. Mac reached out and removed it, his hand grazing her cheek although she hardly noticed. Her brows narrowed in determination as she struggled to stand up, knocking over the stool. "Woah there!" Mac quickly caught her before she hit the ground, and she looked around dizzily. "Wha-? Wha happened? Where's the fight?"

"There's no fight, you just knocked over a stool..." But his words trailed off realizing that explaining anything to her right now was pointless. plus he was feeling pretty inebriated himself. Instead, he focused all his effort on hauling her up, on her two shaky feet, her black court heels slipping a little.

"Careful!" He bit, annoyed as hell that Dee was not only drunk again but completely unmanageable. And why wasn't he passed out on the floor in a blissful drunk stupor instead of trying to haul her dumbass back home? He was drunk but not that drunk, what the hell man? And where the hell were Charlie and Dennis? Chasing their buzz in the heat of the moment, to another bar or even a nice pair of tits, and clearly forgetting to bring them along.

"Assholes." Mac found muttering to himself. Dee was looking at nothing through glazed drunk eyes but he sworn he could have heard her murmur, "I know."

It was then that he remembered Dee passing out in his arms and with all the effort his weak and nauseated state allowed him, he pulled her up and threw an arm around his shoulder, helping her walk to the car.

"Whatt the hellll." his inner monologue became hers as Dee stumbled, her blonde hair falling into her face. The cold air outside the bar hit them both as Mac hailed a taxi, and shuffled them both in. "Where to?" the drive piped in a thick eastcoast accent.

"Downtown" Mac snapped, massaging his throbbing temples, as Dee just passed out against the window. Wordlessly, the car switched into gear and took them on a bumpy ride that with each cobble the tire hit, made Mac want to throw up. Clearly Dee was feeling the pain too because she was groaning a bit and mumbling something about how she would never fuck taxi drivers.

And he found himself glancing at her every time she did, which was weird because he was an asshole and he couldn't really understand why he was overseeing her wellbeing. But sometimes he did things like this, when Dennis wasn't around to laugh at him or snap his dick off.

The cab pulled up to his house and Mac groaned at the realization that he had to haul not only her, but also himself up to that house. Somehow he got drunker with the car ride. Maybe pummeling a couple dozen shots in him before the bar closed wasn't the best idea, but the night was ending and he wanted to get his drunks worth. He was sick of Dennis and Dee always beating him to it.

"You guys are the best alcoholics ever, you know that?" Mac grunted as he pulled the very drunk Dee out the car. She collapsed into the dirt and with a huge sigh and fighting the urge to leave her there; Mac hoisted her up and in the end, carried her, like a big fucking baby

"Hey! Where the fucks my money?" The cab driver snapped, tapping at his blinking meter. "Oh god dammit", Mac puffed into the cold air, and somehow, in a swift drunk maneuver he balanced Dee on one knee as he use his other hand to quickly pull money out of his pocket and chuck it through the window "Here, you fat fuck, don't spend it all at once." Hoisting her back up and carrying her, grunting and struggling, all the way down the pathway and into the building. He liked to pretend he was strong, but he really wasn't.

The inside was a welcoming warm, Dennis wasn't even home so without a second thought he stumbled in loudly and just collapsed on to the couch, kicking the coffee table and a glass crashing over. Dee barely stirred.

Ok so if he recalled maybe he knew that Dennis and Charlie were going off, and he decided not to come. Maybe it's because Dee was sticking around, and that one fucking old fat guy was looking at her all wrong. And he knew a creepy vibe when he felt one. After all his gym teacher was a child molester.

And maybe he tried to explain that to Dee when she was hammered, and maybe she just laughed in his face about being molested, but who gives a fuck? Maybe he just shrugged it off because he laughs at her for all kinds of shit too. He torments her to no end, and takes special pleasure in doing so. Why? Because he's just an asshole, there was no real explanation, after a while it all becomes instinct.

The drink was hitting him hard now, and so were the spins. Mac was struggling to keep his eyes open but all he felt was Dee snuggling into his shoulder like it were a pillow. He dared to look down and found she had a strangely soft expression when she slept, one that he didn't really know.

He touched her arm and stroked the skin with his hand, instinctually freezing up with the prospect of someone snapping his dick off, when he realized that there was no one around. He relaxed.

She stirred, "Stoppit asshole." she murmured, still dreaming.

"I'm taking care of you bitch."

She didn't respond, she was sleeping.

Mac wondered what it would look like if Dennis found them like this, Mac on the couch, Dee curled up in his lap. Maybe he would go a-wall, or maybe he would just ridicule them to no end. He didn't really know, but for now he was too drunk and comfortable to care. It was nice and quiet in the apartment, no yelling or irrational berating. Nice and tranquilly quiet. For now he wasn't an asshole and everything was alright. He slowly passed out on this thought, head tilted back into the sofa, arm still around Sweet Dee.


End file.
